The Amulet of Salazar
by Jadrien
Summary: Revised! Basically same plot, but better. Right after GoF, Draco's parents are killed by Voldemort after Lucius gives Draco a powerful amulet. Voldemort is now after him and Draco must stay with Hermione during the summer for protection. R&R please!
1. Default Chapter

The Amulet Of Salazar  
  
Lucius Malfoy sat fidgeting nervously in his high-backed gilded chair. The light from the low burning fire flickered over his agitated face and the rest of the lavishly decorated room. Outside, a storm thundered, as if it weren't already late in May, and the sounds of it ruined the tense silence of his study.  
  
Lucius barely noticed the strong gale however, his own thoughts a tempest themselves. They centered mostly on the night before, when his worst fears had come to life: the reappearance of the Dark Lord. When the Dark Mark had painfully begun to darken on his arm, he could only brush it off as coincidence for an hour or so before it became excruciatingly raw. He then realized what that meant: his Master had returned.  
  
When the rest of the former Death Eaters had grouped together, his Master had greeted him well enough. He didn't seem ready to kill him, but with the Dark Lord, you never knew when he would strike next. Lucius admitted that it had been enjoyable to be at the side of the most powerful Dark wizard ever to come upon the earth when He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named had first risen. He could instill terror in whom ever he chose, whether they were a simple Muggle, piteous Mudblood, or a Wizard he had gone to school with. He had power and respect, attributes he always strove to keep.  
  
That was why he did not wish for his Master's return. After his downfall, Lucius had taken serious measures to maintain his good name. He told those altruistic wizards that he had been under the control of the Imperius Curse, and that the thousands of murders he had committed were not from the workings of his mind. He had pleaded, momentarily forgetting his Malfoy dignity, endeavoring that he would never associate with the Death Eaters or anyone of that kind again. He told them anything that would keep him out of Azkaban. Azkaban, and the fools had believed him, restoring his mansion and riches to him immediately.  
  
He stood up, bringing an amber bottle with him towards the fireplace. Leaning heavily on the mantle, he watched as a cool liquid the same color as the bottle poured into a small glass. He pressed it against his perspiring forehead, droplets of chilled water mingling with that of warm ones. Taking a sip, he sighed, remembering how his fellow Death Eaters, the ones who were still free at least, had attempted to kill him after hearing he had repented of his Dark ways. Their Master had made it clear that should he be defeated they were to never renounce their ways, but to die with their pride. Lucius had explained to them that by keeping out of Azkaban, he was not turning his back on them. The Dark Lord had left in Lucius' possession many useful Dark items and tools, such as a Self-Hanging Noose, the Never-Bloody Knife, poisons, and other torturous items. He intended to keep them and perhaps use them, he had assured them, as a sign that he was still a supporter of their Master, whenever he came back to power. They had left him alone after that, satisfied with his answer.  
  
He had been at the pinnacle of power then. Not only had he controlled the Death Eaters and associates, but he had won the favor of the Light Side as well. No one dared to question the authority of Lucius Malfoy, and that was what he had wanted from the very beginning: all-encompassing power and the utmost respect of everyone.  
  
But now his Master had returned and Lucius knew what he would be seeking. Wormtail's potion the other night had restored a body to the Dark Lord, but little else. To be able to regain his full powers he would need something from his own master, Salazar Slytherin. Being as Salazar lived quite a long time ago, there was not much left of his possessions, but he had managed to ensure that his heir would be able to reclaim something of his, should his powers need be regenerated. That something was the Amulet of Salazar, a powerful talisman that once touching the true heir of Slytherin, would restore all of Salazar's power to him. The Dark Lord might be able to achieve his former glory, but Lucius knew that if he indeed failed a second time, Lucius would never be able to convince the Light Side of his supposed innocence once again and he would be sent to Azkaban.  
  
The thought had terrified Lucius since he had come into possession of the Amulet of Salazar over 13 years ago, and he knew if the Dark Lord were to rise again the person he would think to come for first was Lucius himself. He had highly doubted that this would happen, but, just in case, he wanted to get rid of it. Then if the Dark Lord did come back without regaining his powers, he could die off and Lucius' position in the Wizarding world would remain secure. He had tried to destroy it using every curse and spell he knew, but nothing would break it. He had tried to give it to other Death Eaters, but they were afraid of the power it held, thinking that they were not responsible enough to take it. He had eventually given it to Draco as a present for his 11th birthday (and for receiving his acceptance letter from Hogwarts), telling him that if he wore it, it would protect him and his family. This was not untrue since if anyone but Lucius had it, he and the world would be safe from the possibility of the Dark Lord's wrath. He had counted on Draco to lose it or give it to someone else, since the boy didn't tend to care for his possessions, but, surprisingly enough, Draco had worn it faithfully for the past 4 years, never seeming to take it off. It was only now, with the return of his Master, that Lucius realized the danger his only son was in. The students' last day of school would be tomorrow, he remembered, and once Draco returned to the Manor, Lucius would ask Draco to remove the amulet, and then place it in some unknowing Muggle's bag or something- anything to get it away from his family.  
  
Lucius sat down wearily behind his study's desk, pressing his head back into the black leather of his chair. He raised his fingers to massage his throbbing temples and breathed deeply, trying to relax. It seemed to work after a few minutes and he was almost asleep when the touch of a cold hand on his shoulder startled him. He raised his gray eyes to a familiar black pair. His mouth dropped open and his already pale face lost all color.  
  
"Lucius," a raspy voice called softly, "My trusted servant. It is so good to see you again. I see from your exquisite estate that you have had it much easier than some of my other followers." The figure stood in front of him holding out an ashen, smooth hand.  
  
Lucius bowed his head and kissed the Dark Lord's hand, trembling slightly. He immediately stood up, giving up his leather chair for his Master, and after whispering an almost silent "Accio"; he sat down in the light green dais that had zoomed across the room to rest behind him.  
  
"I suppose you know why I am here," the dark figure drawled, as if he were torturing Lucius instead of simply conversing with him, "I've come for the final ingredient to complete my resurrection. Where is it?"  
  
"The.er.amulet?" Lucius realized that he sounded like a quivering fool, something he never strove to appear as, but he needed to stall. He had no excuses for the absence of his Master's property. "Ah yes, it's. er. in the basement, with the rest of the.items you left me." He finished lamely.  
  
The dark eyes studied him. "Why are you lying to me, Lucius?" Lucius felt a prick of steadily growing pain in the middle of his forehead. The Dark Lord did not need his wand to cause pain to his victims.  
  
The searing anguish brought Lucius to his knees, clutching his head. His Master loomed above him, peering down at him with cold fury rising in his eyes. " Where is it?" He ground out.  
  
Lucius raised his terror-stricken face, "I.I sold it." With a sudden lurch, Lucius was thrown against the cobblestone wall, his head hitting a particularly salient rock. Blood gushed from the wound, and Lucius held a shaking hand to it.  
  
Voldemort walked with deliberate steps to the crumpled figure. "You cannot lie to me Lucius; I will always know when you do. Now tell me, where is the amulet?" He said this slowly, making each word more menacing and terrifying than the next.  
  
"Draco has it." Lucius gave up trying to lie or stall. He gave up on everything. "I gave it to him."  
  
Voldemort tsked disapprovingly, as if Lucius were a child who had done something to upset his parents. "You disappoint me Lucius." Then he cruelly whispered the last two words Lucius would ever hear.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
  
  
Narcissa Malfoy sat in front of her sapphire and emerald encrusted vanity, brushing an antique comb through her platinum hair thoughtfully. The spaced teeth of the comb slid into her hair, searching for tangles that would never be found in the long, silken tresses. Her dark blue eyes took in the reflection of her beautiful bedroom, decorated in expensive silks of powder and midnight blue. The room was filled with illustrious gifts from her husband, whether they were a new set of finely sewn robes or an 11th century Chinese vase. Narcissa's room was as fine and grand as a Queen's. Yet, nothing could replace the empty feeling she often felt when in the cold room.  
  
Her life as the wife of Lucius Malfoy was not as she had hoped it would be. At just 17 years of age she had married him, doing her father's persistent bidding and saving her family's good name. She smiled frailly at the nostalgic memories as they returned to her. Narcissa had wanted to study abroad and see the world outside her carefully protected affluent home. But her father had spent all their money; they had nothing to keep them in their world of money and supercilious wizardry friends but their renowned name. Now, as Narcissa's father had told her, it was her duty to save their name. Lucius, who had been besotted with Narcissa since her earlier schooling, was the choice advocate. If she did not acquiesce to his demands, within a month her family would be out on the streets, fighting to stay alive. Narcissa had obediently complied.  
  
And yet, Narcissa thought as she turned on the round white cushion that was seated near her vanity, her marriage hadn't been too bad the first few months. Lucius had adored her, rarely leaving her alone in the manor, and always spending time with her. Narcissa had even allowed herself to care for him too, something that she would have never expected to happen. He had been sweet, caring, and, yes, loving then. How could you not begin to have feelings for someone who was so devoted to you?  
  
His affection gave way with the appearance of the Dark Lord however. She went from being his favorite toy to a lovely ornament, one that could be admired from far away. He spent many days, sometimes weeks, away from the mansion, and treated her coolly when he was around. Narcissa simply devoted herself to her son, Draco, once he was born; the love that grew for her son was not forced. She had spoiled him shamelessly, but it was all so that he could forget about his father's coolness and strictness toward him and his mother. Lucius often tried to instill in Draco the ideals of his own austere upbringing, and Narcissa could do nothing but watch as the boy easily complied. She had wanted to break the standards of the distinguished side of the Wizardry world and teach her son to look at the heart of people, not their bloodlines or wealth, but Narcissa's requests fell on deaf ears.  
  
She lifted her pain-filled eyes to the high-arched window in acknowledgement of the ear-splitting thunder and cracking lightening for the first time. Pulling her lavender satin dressing gown closer to her thin form, she walked over to the window, staring intently at the shadowed landscape. Her fine features contracted together in an expression of deep resolve. "I will not let you turn into your father Draco," she said aloud, her voice disquieting the empty silence that developed between rolls of thunder. She would not allow him to carry on the Malfoy's notoriously officious manners.  
  
Narcissa lay down on her bed, her blonde head sinking into the deep pillows. She was nearly asleep when a burning smell brought her fully awake. A golden blaze covered the left corner and was spreading through out her room quickly, the flames licking at her curtains and vanity. She ran to the door, pounding against it with her delicate fists- it would not budge. Tears from the increasing smoke and her overpowering fear spilled from her eyes. The flames seemed to engulf her and she could not find a way out. Crouching in one corner of the room and holding her knees to her chest, she waited for a husband that would not come.  
  
  
  
Thomas Wimbledon stoically trudged up the steep hill near Malfoy Manor, squinting through the sheets of rain that were pouring mercilessly on him. The heavy wooden cart the 52-year- old man pushed up the grassy knoll made the work twice as long and hard. He was sure by the time he reached the dreary mansion and put the cart laden with gardening tools away, he would be dead. He glared at the establishment whose owner had caused him many broken bones and strained muscles in the time that he had worked there. He grunted and pressed harder at the cart, forcing its wheels to turn slowly in the mud but not sending it any further. If he could somehow obtain the courage he so desperately needed, he would tell Mr. Malfoy that he would be quitting his job as caretaker tonight.  
  
Twenty minutes later he had reached the top of the hill, the wind and rain seeming to grow stronger. He smiled grimly at the thought of returning to the small hut Mr. Malfoy had given him as a residence, knowing that in a few minutes he would be warm and dry. This served as a further incentive to push the cart with the last of his strength toward the dark manor. Just as he reached the back of the dwelling and placed the cart against a stonewall; a bright orange flash from the north window caught his eye. He stepped back, trying to get a better view. It was coming from Mrs. Malfoy's room, and as he saw the orange light spread from one window to the next, he knew what it was: fire.  
  
He ran to the front of the house, trying to break in through the large front door, but it was to no avail. He knew he had not locked it before and yet the thick wooden slabs would not open. He could hear muffled screams coming from the manor, and lunged against the door with more force. Still, the doors stayed stationary.  
  
Flames could now be seen in every window in his sight. Thomas knew he had to get help, but there was not a single other home around for miles. Still, he could not just sit back and let the house burn no matter how much he hated the houses' occupants. He turned to run, but hit something solid in his path, falling down face-first into the soggy mud. Wiping the mud from his face, he looked up at a dark-cloaked figure. He could only stare at the long, thin branch that was pointed at him before a flash of green light blinded him, sending him into a final, dark oblivion. 


	2. Draco's homecoming

Draco leaned angrily against the post just outside of King's Cross Station. He watched the swarms of idiotic Muggles and some covert wizards and witches that passed by him. No, he wasn't just angry. He was putout, mad, furious and livid all rolled into the hot ball of fire that had found a home in the pit of his stomach. Yet, just an hour ago, he had been very happy. Happy and carefree and eagerly awaiting the start of his summer holiday. That was of course, before Potter and his little Gryffindor thugs had hexed him on the train coming back from Hogwarts.  
  
Draco remembered with a groan his teasing them. "You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang out with riffraff like this!" He had jerked his head at Weasley and Granger. "Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle- lovers first! Well- second- Diggory was the f-" and then he had been cut off by a flurry of bright lights all directed at him and his cohorts, leaving them out cold on the train's hard wood floor.  
  
Really, he thought disgruntled, I was only warning Wonder boy. But, as always, the Gryffindors misinterpreted his advice, letting their renowned "bravery" take over and immediately hexed him, Goyle and Crabbe. Then, if you please, they had simply left the three of them unconscious in a corridor. Draco frowned, for it was just the thing he would have done had their situations been reversed. Perhaps he was making an impact on the three do-gooders after all.  
  
Ten minutes after the train had stopped and the Gryffindor idiots had left (or so he assumed), a teacher had finally found their inert forms lying pitifully on the floor. Even now, Draco brushed his coat off, looking for dirt particles that might have been left on his expensive clothing. He wouldn't have known whom the teacher was, having never taken one of her classes, if he had not awoken to find her closely staring at him with her large-as-saucers eyes, muttering some ridiculous chant. It was that batty Divination teacher Professor Trelawney he had heard some of the Slytherins poking fun at during meal times and in the common room. One might not think that Slytherins would be interested in the capricious subject, but it was actually fairly popular among them. Draco concluded that it was because so many would want to predict the powerful and satisfying future they were sure they would have when gazing into the misty depths of a crystal ball, or staring at crumpled tea leaves, or whatever else loony things they did in that class. Though that didn't mean they found Professor Trelawney any less annoying and melodramatic as the rest of the student body. It was probably one of the few things the four Houses all agreed on.  
  
She had helped them up after administering the counter- curses for their hexes; all the while explaining that she had had a terrible feeling that something dastardly was going on. Draco doubted this, but had kept his mouth shut anyway. He was still shocked and utterly embarrassed about the whole situation. Potter, Weasley, and Granger had. bested him. They had pulled their wands out, hexed him and his friends quicker than he would have given them credit for, and then just left them lying there, complete with burns, bruises, small tentacles, and other such marks of a curse. He felt a hot burst of anger, wishing he could hex each one of them with the three Unforgivable Curses. Well, he would inevitably get his revenge. Perhaps the Dark Lord would make a visit during Potter's summer vacation, kill him and all his "extraordinary powers" everyone claimed he had, and perhaps kill off the Weasel and Mudblood Granger too. Yes, he smirked to himself; that would be a nice payback.  
  
He had already said his goodbyes to Crabbe and Goyle, which had been his usual curt nod of the head, and was now waiting for his family's driver. Murphy had always been at the station on time, parking near the entrance every year since Draco's first at Hogwarts. And yet, even after Draco had been unconscious for ten minutes or more after the train had stopped and having a teacher unhex him and his friends, Murphy was still not here. He leaned more heavily on the post that had supported him for the last five minutes, exhaling an annoyed sigh. Being five minutes late would get you fired in the Malfoy household, and that's just what Draco intended to suggest to his father once he got home.  
  
As if hearing his thoughts, a limo with his family's crest pulled up by the curb near him. The driver, Draco noticed as he stepped from the car, was not the short, pudgy man he was accustomed to having pick him up. His face was half-hidden by the typical driver hat he wore, but he almost looked familiar to Draco. A gold tooth glinted in the sun as he smiled politely at Draco and while picking up the heavy bags, greeted him, "Good day, Master Draco."  
  
Draco nodded slightly, and then walked to the polished, black limousine, opening the door with a flourish as he noticed the Muggles gawking at him. He smirked nastily to them, and sat down in the beige, leather seats, the content grin still stuck on his face. Yes, he thought, it is nice to be rich.  
  
The new driver was taking longer to put his bags away than Draco cared for and he decided that he would still tell Father to fire him once he got home. There was no reason to stay any longer in this soiled, Muggle filled spot and he'd like to leave as soon as possible. Idleness was basically breaking a cardinal rule of the Malfoy's, and anyone was subject to the consequences. Draco certainly did not want to be the one to incur his Father's wrath.  
  
Not that his Father had ever physically abused him, he thought as the driver finally started the engine and pulled into traffic. Lucius Malfoy would never be one to let his emotions loose in such a primal, crude way; something that he had taught to Draco through out all of his youth. Allowing your enemies to see your emotions would give them an upper hand. Emotions clouded the mind and got in the way of your better judgment. Besides, inscrutable expressions could instill so much more terror in your victims, he grinned.  
  
No, Draco wasn't afraid of his father blasting him away with curses once he reached the manor; he had already had enough hexing for the day. But, Lucius would often find him guilty for things he had no control over. It was not his fault that the driver had picked him up late, nor was it his fault that Potter beat him in their Quidditch matches, or that Granger bested him as top student in their year. Potter had a better broom of course, and Granger must have charmed the pants off of every teacher she had except for Snape. Draco smiled to himself; he could always count on Snape to put those idiot Gryffindors back in their place. Yet, these excuses did not satisfy Lucius and he often took away Draco's owling and flying privileges for such shortcomings. Without these, there really wasn't much to do in the expansive mansion except perhaps terrorize the House-Elves, and even that got tiring after awhile.  
  
The car's methodic humming and the countryside scenery he spied from his tinted window enabled Draco to relax, his thoughts drifting to the feast last night in the Great Hall. There had been no House Cup this year, which the Slytherins might not have won anyway since Potter was still winning points for the Gryffindors simply by breathing, or so it always seemed. Instead, the Hall had been dressed in black, a colour that Draco usually appreciated. But it had all been for that Hufflepuff boy who had died, so that did put a slight damper on his admiration of the hue. When Dumbledore had asked everyone to raise his or her glasses to Diggory, Draco had complied. He really didn't have anything against the boy, except for being a stupid Hufflepuff. But when his glass was raised, it was not for Diggory, but for the one who had caused his death. With a deep smile on his face, he had silently toasted to the Dark Lord for another conquest. Then, Dumbledore continued with his long-winded eulogy and Draco spent most of it muttering to Crabbe and Goyle. They might have been addle-brained sycophants, but they were still good listeners. Then Dumbledore made some stupid comment about Potter's incredible valor and heroism for escaping the Dark Lord once again. But Draco and quite a few other Slytherins did not stand with the others who had drank to Potter. Perhaps had the Dark Lord killed Potter, Draco would have stood and raised his glass, as he had done with Diggory, but the Wonder Boy had gotten away, so no, he wouldn't.  
  
Draco wondered briefly if it was this summer that he would finally join the ranks of his father and become a Death Eater. It wasn't so much that he was dying to be one, he simply knew that it was expected of him to become one by his father. And when Lucius Malfoy was pleased, everyone was pleased. Plus, he supposed it would be rather fun to get back at all those piteous Muggles and Mudbloods. It would be at least entertaining, however distasteful. Not to mention the fact that every girl in Slytherin would swoon at the near "tattoo" he'd acquire as soon as he was initiated. Yes, the Dark Arts certainly had their benefits.  
  
Draco spent the rest of the long car ride playing out dashing and extraordinary Quidditch moves in his head. He was extremely determined to never again let Potter catch the Snitch first and beat him, and fierce determination was one of the most distinguishing qualities of the ideal Slytherin, which Draco imagined he was. He had just caught the snitch while using a levitating charm on himself (only after his broom had "accidentally" broke on Potter's head of course), when Murphy, or whoever his new driver was, pulled up the familiarly steep road of Malfoy Manor. He could see his family's vineyards and orchards as they whizzed by, but they looked very different. Normally at this season they would be abundant with fruit with per usual flourish. Instead they were a deep brown and looked to be crisply dried out. What had the House-Elves done? He thought with a burst of anger, his mouth open in shock. In fact, he wondered if their family had any House-Elves left alive as the car pulled to a stop.  
  
Murphy had risen to open his door for him, but Draco was already using it as a support for his now limp body. His hand gripped the top of the still-open door and the car alarm beeped away monotonously. Draco didn't notice this however; his eyes could only focus on the ruins that used to be his home.  
  
Where had once stood a tall, domineering manor was now little more than a pile of rubble. His mansion had housed over 600 different rooms, 97 hallways, 28 staircases, one very large kitchen, and a swimming pool used more as a lake, yet all that was left was the chamber door and a few scorched stones. Draco's mind took in the burnt slabs and swirling ashes slowly. It was a fire; his parents had died in a fire.  
  
He walked cautiously to the remains, a part of him still believing that it was some sort of a hoax. It hadn't been enough for Potter and his friends to hex him in the train; they were really going the extra mile this time. He wanted to laugh at their idiotic trick, but the sound got caught somewhere in his suddenly parched throat. He raised a trembling finger to the charred door; if it was a spell, things would return to normal once he touched it. His finger brushed the smooth door, paving a slim white line against the backdrop of black dust as it slid down the frame. The image of the door remained charred ebony and Draco felt his stomach hit the floor.  
  
Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind and Draco swung around to meet familiar eyes. He was one of his Father's colleagues, a Death Eater. Draco could see the distinctive scar over his right eye that he had seen on one of the men at one of his father's Death Eater meetings so long ago. Draco recalled his Father calling him Knowles. His dark brown eyes were filled with pity as he looked at Draco.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Draco. I received news of it this morning, but- ." He paused, his eyes surveying what was left of the mansion in shock. "I didn't want to believe it." Draco looked past the tall wizard's shoulder, noticing for the first time a group of wizards standing a few feet away from them. He recognized a few and knew immediately that they too were Death Eaters. They stared back at him cautiously, some whispering to each other. He looked back to the wizard who was still uncomfortably grasping his shoulder.  
  
"I knew. I knew one day this great mansion would be Lucius' downfall." He started to lead Draco away from the door and down to where the rest of the Death Eaters were. "All of those rooms, each with it's own fireplace. well, it was inevitable I guess. He simply didn't understand that mansions built in the 13th century didn't have the wards against incineration as newer ones do. He loved the Manor too much I suppose; had too much pride really." His hand finally dropped from Draco's shoulder, much to Draco's relief. The group of Death Eaters seemed to inch closer to him and Draco realized that they surrounded him.  
  
"But we can be your family now, Draco, " Knowles continued, gesturing to his comrades. "I believe Lucius was planning on having you initiated as a Death Eater this summer. We think you are ready to join anyhow." He stepped closer to Draco, his voice dipping lower, "the Dark Lord has returned as I'm sure that fool Dumbledore has already told you. We can take you to our Master and you will finally join the ranks of the most powerful wizards of the earth. The world will be yours, Draco."  
  
He seemed to notice that Draco's look of distrust still had not lifted. Changing tactics, he said in an almost caring, compassionate way, "Draco, it's what your father wanted since the day you were born. Won't you accredit his memory and fulfill his final wish? Become one of us."  
  
Draco looked around at the familiar faces. These people were one of the few he had left, and he felt he couldn't disobey his father's wishes, not now. It was on the tip of his tongue to concede when a flash of gold caught his eye. There stood his limo driver, only he had changed out of his driver's outfit and was now robed, grinning maliciously at him. Draco knew now that something was very, very wrong. He stepped back from Knowles, fear and rage coursing every fiber of his body. However, he couldn't very well battle against several well- armed and experienced wizards by himself. He racked his brain for a plan, an escape, for some solution out.  
  
Words spoken long ago by his mother echoed through his mind suddenly, "If ever you're in trouble, deadly trouble, and neither your father and I are there to help you, trust no one. Use this ring," she had said, holding a gold band encrusted simply with a red ruby in her outstretched hand, "turn the jewel twice to the right, once to the left, and it will transport you to Hogwarts- where you'll be safe."  
  
Draco now felt the ring encircled on his middle finger as if it were burning him. Knowles was still looking at him expectantly, patiently awaiting his supposed assent. Without a second thought, he slowly touched the ring, keeping eye contact with Knowles.  
  
"Never," he whispered harshly before turning the ring twice to the right and once to the left, feeling immense relief when his stomach tugged and the threatening faces blurred as his body was sucked into a vortex.  
  
  
  
Hermione was snuggled deeply in her favorite armchair back at home; a blanket wrapped around her lower half, a plate of cookies sitting precariously on the left armrest, and as always, her nose in a book. However intriguing Magical Jewelry of Powerful Wizards was though, her mind simply kept wandering off to other subjects. Giving up after reading the same paragraph three times over, she closed the book and set it on the nearby table. Her hand lingered for a second over the cookie plate before choosing a macadamia nut-filled one, she then chewed it pensively as she looked out the sunny window in her family's library.  
  
What did Viktor want from her anyway? She remembered his intense stare when he had invited her to his family's estate during the summer. Hermione really liked Viktor, he was a very interesting person, but wouldn't it be awkward to be alone with a boy in what she supposed would be a very large mansion? She had answered him vaguely, not saying necessarily yes or no. He had nodded understandably, and then promptly told her that he wanted to be just friends. Hermione worried that he had taken it personally. It wasn't Viktor himself that she was afraid to be alone with but boys in general. This perhaps seemed a little ridiculous coming from a girl whose two best friends were boys, but she never thought of them like that. They were simply Harry and Ron, the same two boys she had seen with sunburns, messy hair, and milk shooting out of their nostrils after a good joke. The same ones who had also forgotten to acknowledge that she was a girl and ask her properly to the Yule Ball last year, she silently steamed. But Viktor was older, more mature, who didn't still play childish games like Exploding Snap, and delighted in her passion for books. Though he hadn't said much, Hermione could see the interested spark in his eyes whenever she talked, the glint that said he was actually listening to her. She had only seen that spark in Harry or Ron's eyes when she was discussing their homework or telling them something terribly important that they should have known anyway. It had been a nice change.  
  
However that had been in the midst of hundreds of other students and teachers, all of whom she could run to if ever she ran out of things to say or should Viktor try something she wasn't ready for. She often wondered if he would kiss her when they went on one of their few walks around the Hogwarts grounds together, but he had abstained. Hermione realized now that this had been for the better since they were currently "just friends" anyway, and she wouldn't want to give her first kiss away to "just a friend". But after hearing countless swoons in her Gryffindor dorm room over dates and snogging sessions, Hermione had felt a little left out.  
  
She stood up from the chair and slipped quietly to the nearby bathroom. Staring into the oval-shaped mirror over the sink, she silently appraised herself. Her hair had calmed down a bit, it was much less bushy than it had been before thanks to Madame Malkin's Creamy Conditioner, and it now fell down past her shoulders in a mix of waves and ringlets. Ginny had given it to her as an early birthday present a week ago, since she would not be here for the end of August, but Hermione hadn't used it until this afternoon, afraid that it would destroy her hair. She had never been trusting with cosmetic magic, but apparently Ginny was correct. She had said it would have nearly the same effect the potion Hermione had used at the Yule Ball had. Thoughts of the Yule Ball reminded her of Viktor, and she quickly went back to assessing herself.  
  
She had always liked her eyes, which were noticeably large but lovely, with a deep brown color that reminded Hermione of hot chocolate. Her skin was not alabaster, nor was it deeply tanned, but a pleasant peaches and cream color. She looked down and slowly turned her body around clockwise. Well, she had always been painfully thin, but after the summer was over she was sure to have a developing figure. So despite her chin being a tad pointy and her eyebrows in desperate need of plucking, Hermione concluded that she was rather pretty.  
  
So why didn't boys like her, she wondered dispiritedly as she walked back to the library. Why weren't they knocking down her door to have a date with her? Why wasn't her room filled with owls patiently waiting for her to untie the dozens of sappy love letters boys had sent her? She slumped back into her armchair and roughly bit into another cookie, disregarding the fact that her parents would be angry with her later for eating too many sweets. Before this year she wouldn't have given a fig if boys had or hadn't liked her. She had been too busy with her schoolwork and upcoming projects to care about the other half of the species. But after the Yule Ball and finally getting some attention from a boy, it had changed her. She still cared about her schoolwork and classes more than anything, but she supposed she could make time for a few dates or even a boyfriend now and then. Except that she really didn't understand boys. It was times like these that you expected them to be superficial and go for a pretty face, but instead they were chased away by a sharp intellect, bossy manner, and devotion to learning. It was the same reason Harry and Ron hadn't liked her in their first year.  
  
Hermione bit her lip worriedly when she thought of Harry. He had cheered up considerably during the train ride home and was much more animated than he had been during the whole week. He had even been able to tell them what had happened that fateful last trial of the Triwizard Cup. And really, hexing Malfoy and his goons would certainly lift anyone's spirits, she remembered with a gleeful smile. However the look she spied in Harry's bottle-green eyes after she had said her goodbye to him told her that he was still feeling horribly guilty. Impulsively she had kissed his cheek, something she would have never done had he not looked so disconsolate, and Hermione thought it understandably so seeing as he had to live with three hateful Muggles for the next three months. But still, she wondered if she could invite him over for a time during the summer to cheer him up. Unlike the rest of the male population (excluding Ron of course) she wouldn't be nervous with just Harry in the house.  
  
She glanced at her watch and realized that it was time for her to set a bowl out for Crookshanks. Not that the cat really needed it, he spent too much of his time hunting in the nearby forest to be bothered with a bowl of cat food, but Hermione couldn't help but place a bowl out for him. Just in case. She walked through the kitchen, spying her parents drinking their coffee at the table and reading the paper, and proceeded into the pantry, leaning down to open the small bag of feed. She had just scooped enough to fill the bowl to brimming when she heard sharp taps against the kitchen's window. Curious, she glanced over at it, spotting an owl frantically nipping at the glass. With raised eyebrows she hurried to the window and opened it, allowing the white and brown speckled Barn Owl to swoop in. It perched on the countertop and held its letter-beleaguered leg outstretched to her. She freed the green envelope from its leg, petted it momentarily in thanks and opened the unexpected letter. She wondered briefly if her earlier wishes had come true and this indeed was the first of many love letters that would be arriving tonight. The familiar loopy green handwriting on the parchment and now broken crest stamped on the envelope however, told her it was not from a love-stricken boy. It was from school.  
  
Her parents glanced up from their engrossed reading for the first time, noticing their daughter's still form. Ms. Granger's soft blue eyes took in the letter held faintly in Hermione's hand and the perplexed look on her face.  
  
"What is it dear? Who's the letter from?" She asked, taking a sip of her coffee.  
  
"It's from Professor McGonagall," she stated, looking up at them, "They want us at Hogwarts." 


End file.
